


Memories On Ice

by aokoyasumi



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Authoriscrying, Death, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-01-31 11:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12680976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aokoyasumi/pseuds/aokoyasumi
Summary: Viktor senses death approaching, and thinks back on his life, full of precious memories with his love. A mix of beautiful romance and tragedy... Reflections about love, loss, and acceptance, mixed with recollections of both happy and heart-wrenching moments of Viktuuri.





	1. Chapter 1

Viktor was not really afraid of dying, even as old age and disease clawed at him furiously.

Death was natural; it was inevitable. This he knew ever since he had been but a child, watching his grandparents disappear one by one, then his parents. He had not been confused then; he had understood what was happening. There was horror, and grief, but there had been understanding too, even then. Yet, oh how far death had seemed back then!

As often recently, it struck him again how short his life had been, yet how much he'd achieved in those few dozens of years: it was not just his legacy in the skating world – he had been loved, and he had loved. He had at least cherished life, and tried to live it to its fullest. He had no regrets.

Death was threatening, of course. Death was this huge void opening before him, seemingly endless. But death was also a welcomed invitation, a gentle hand that would lead him to all the ones he'd lost over the years. He would join his parents and grandparents, long gone. He would join Yakov. He would join Makkachin.

He would join Yuuri, his beloved Yuuri, the Yuuri who had left him desperate and terribly, terribly alone.

It was good he would be with Yuuri. He had never truly believed in God, or Paradise, though he had been raised in an Orthodox family, but at least for now he could comfort his conscience with that beautiful dream. Perhaps if he thought and believed it hard enough, he would die truly in peace, with a small smile on his face. That would be nice for Yuri and Otabek, he thought. It would be great for the people that remain alive, to see he did not die suffering too much. It would also be nice for himself. He wanted his last thought, his last 'sight' to be Yuuri, his Yuuri, his love, his dead husband. It was a good end, he decided. He had had a good life, as good a life as he had ever wished for. No matter what his mind could tell him, he had enjoyed and cherished over fifty years with the one he'd loved – the one he loves. Death had separated them once. Death would unite them now.

But though he was not afraid of dying, Viktor still fought to live. Partly because he still felt a responsibility towards the living and the present – there were people who needed him by their sides. Partly because of his own instincts to survive and wake up the following day. There was curiosity too: he was too interested in the future to relinquish his right to see it that easily. But most importantly, he wanted to hold on to Yuuri as long as possible – the Yuuri he saw every time he closed his eyes; the Yuuri that appeared to him every time he dreamed. The Yuuri of memories, the Yuuri of photographs, the Yuuri that lived in the anecdotes that would be told and retold, the Yuuri in his heart. It was selfish, and almost delusional. He'd been asked to move on, to stop living in the past. But there was no life without Yuuri for him; there hadn't been one since he was twenty-seven. So people could call him a nostalgic fool, or an overly attached geezer. He did not give a shit.

Yuri and Otabek visited him often, and lit up his little house for a few precious hours. They would talk about little nothings that added up to everything, they would gossip about Evgeniya, the little girl they had adopted, and who had grown up and become independent already. Sometimes, they would spend time reminiscing past events, confess a few truths never told, cry together for the ones they'd lost. It was good to have them.

Mostly, though, Viktor lived alone, with nothing much to do. He had been very active in coaching until a year ago, his focus on his students' success and his passion for skating having helped him surpass Yuuri's death. But as his body's conditions deteriorated, he had to stop. He had turned to writing for a while, mainly on past memories, and the stories of his youth with Yuuri, their love. It had been published, and gained much success in the skating milieu as well as LGBT communities, but success hadn't been his aim. Originally it had been a secret, self-centred project to express his longing and grief, but after he'd let Yuri and Evgeniya read it, he decided to publicise it. The money was not really needed: Yuuri and his fame had enriched them more than they could possibly need, but it felt necessary to lay out his thoughts and feelings bare to the world, like final words. The final words about him in this world would be his book, and a few obituaries online once he'd die.

That was enough, he told himself.

He slowly closed his eyes, and started dreaming again.


	2. Chapter 2

That night he dreamed of the death.

 

Viktor tends to separate his life in three time periods: the life before Yuuri, the one with Yuuri, and the life after Yuuri.   
  
He had never wanted to live that third period.

 

It happened a tender summer night. Viktor and Yuuri were both old men already, that he had to admit. Yet no attractive, young, 'sexy' man ever took his attention away from the Japanese lover who had changed his life. Yes, there were wrinkles on his face, and his voice was quieter than it had been in the past. Yuuri, who had always gained weight easily, was now, to be honest, a bit fat, compared to Viktor's European build. His black smooth hair had receded to a pale grey shade, rather similar to Viktor's. But he was still so beautiful. So, so beautiful.

He remembers Yuuri making them tea that night, matcha sent by Mari-chan. His movements, ever so gracious, as he lifted the tea pot to serve them. The way he blew softly on Viktor's cup before handing it, aware that his Vitya still wasn't used to drinking hot tea. The gentle smile on his face, the loving look, the myriad of lines traced on his skins, witness and proof of the years spent together. The intimacy shared through no words. Simply looking at each other was enough.

Viktor had smiled back, stupidly yet happily. He remembers thinking how grateful he was. He remembers imagining the rest of the path they would walk together. How many more cups of tea would they be able to share together? How many other smiles? How many more 'I love you's?  
  
The macabre irony of it.

The breeze shuffled leaves idly in their garden. They had decided to retire in Yu-topia, taking care of the legacy of Yuuri's parents, who had passed away at least ten years ago. Mari-chan lived alone in Tokyo with her husband, their two daughters having started to work already. Viktor and Yuuri were both too old to be much use cleaning or arranging rooms, but they managed the onsen efficiently, and it was a new kind of experience for both of them, having spent most of their lives traveling due to competitive skating. Settling down where everything had begun seemed the right thing to do.

 

Every time they'd used the onsen, Viktor could not stop thinking of 27-years-old him and 23-years-old Yuuri. Their flushed faces. His falsely confident smile. Yuuri's shock and confusion. He was grateful for that too, he thought.

Yuuri had already left to the kitchen to prepare the meal while Viktor daydreamed. He got up and pushed open the shoji, carefully sneaking up to scare Yuuri – he had retained these childish likings through the years, and it was strangely better pardoned now that he'd grown old. They cooked together. Katsudon. At least his beloved's last meal was also his favourite, he now thought back. The air was warm and moist, and the two had opted to wear matching yukatas, grey and green.

He remembers Yuuri kissing away rice from the corner of his mouth. The soft touch that had become so familiar, so natural, so needed for his survival. Yuuri had blushed a little, a pink nuance spreading on his cheeks. That familiar colour. Viktor had stopped eating, moving towards his husband, laying his hand on the back of Yuuri's head. The second kiss had tasted like katsudon, it had tasted like Yuuri's eros, it had tasted as good as the first kiss they'd shared so many years ago. He would never get tired of kissing Yuuri, he had thought. His husband's arms gently embraced him, spreading that cherished, oh so cherished warmth around his torso. And then Yuuri had stopped. _I'm choosing Katsudon over you_ , he'd said. _No, Vitya, not even your puppy eyes will convince me. Don't forget that Katsudon was my first love._

He had pretended to sulk. _Yuuuuuuuri…_

 

Later that night Viktor had gone to bed late, talking to previous students over Face-time. When he'd walked into their bedroom, Yuuri seemed peacefully asleep already. He changed into his pajamas and slowly crept onto their bed, careful not to wake his husband up. But when he snuggled closer to Yuuri, he did not feel that ever-present warmth that welcomed him every night. Yuuri's skin was dead cold.

Viktor had tried to wake him up. At first, they were gentle pleas _Yuri, please_. Soft whispers. _Yuuri, come on, stop it. It's not funny_. Then he started nudging him, pushing him, shaking him violently. He shouted. _Yuuri! Wake up for God's sake!_. He thrashed the bedsheets.  
  
Nothing.  
  
He opened the lights, looking upon his lover's face. It was pale. Unnaturally pale.   
  
Full-scale panic took hold of him. _Yuuri!_ He was being incoherent. He did not understand. What had happened? What was this cruel joke?

What the fuck?   


He fell down in front of the body he had held for over fifty years. He looked at the eyelids that did not open. The beautiful face he had kissed and loved and spoken to. The mouth that had answered him. The lips that had said the words 'I love you', 'Aishiteru', 'Ya liublyoo tibya' countless times.

He remembers calling an ambulance. He remembers the devastating sound of the sirens as they neared Yu-Topia. He remembers the hazy voices, the questions, the hazy answers. Yuuri's body being taken away.  
  
_Nooo! He's mine. He's my Yuuri. Where are you taking him?!_

There were soothing words, which did not soothe him. He clutched Yuuri's freezing hand. That did not soothe him either. It was strange, Yuuri's hands had always soothed him. All Yuuri's caresses and hugs and touches, innocent and erotic, had been accepted eagerly by his body. Why did Yuuri's hand stay limp? Why was it not stroking his own, saying 'dai jo bu'? It did not make sense, he had thought. Life like this does not make sense. Life without Yuuri does not make sense.

 

That was the night he had entered the third period of his life.

 

The loneliest, oh so lonely years.

 

 _Yuuri._  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor's memories on Yuuri's first GPF gold medal and their marriage...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys for the very depressing tone of the first two chapters, I felt like they had to be written. I try to represent their lives as this mix of ups and downs... and I honestly like tragic stories, when they're well told (I hope I told mine well enough...).
> 
> So now, I'm switching to a slightly happier note.
> 
> Please enjoy.

There had also been happy memories, of course; ones that warmed his heart and filled his head with tenderness. Ones in which he sometimes thought he could drown, bury himself into. Eventually, he came back to reality, disillusioned. But there were still happy memories.

How could there not have been? He'd lived with his husband over fifty years. That meant fifty years of pleasure and beauty and life. Real life, not the cheap imitation he was going through now. The one he nonetheless clutched desperately.

 

It was cliché to think of their marriage immediately, but there was a reason marriages were considered one of the happiest moments of live. Marriages beamed with vibrancy and liveliness, they were sources of it. Their marriage had been one day after Viktor's birthday, late December two years after they'd met. Yuuri had gained gold in the GPF that year, successfully landing four perfect quads in his routine and bewitching the judges and his fans. Bewitching Viktor, who had only been able to stare dumbstruck at the sheer glory of his fiancé, sensually swaying his body to the music. He remembered the vestiges of Yuuri's magical dance on the ice: the swirls and loops and curves and lines inked into the surface of the ice, glistening under the fulgurant lighting of the projectors. Above that chef d'œuvre, that beautiful canvas, had stood Yuuri, fixating Viktor with an intense gaze. Pearls of sweat were running down his forehead, but Viktor did not care. He had not even been able to wait until Yuuri had come off the ice. In his expensive, unsaveable leather shoes, Viktor had jumped onto the rink, and the two lovers had embraced each other halfway, Yuuri panting. Viktor could feel the violent pounding of their hearts, and feel the movement of Yuuri's rib cage pushing and pulling his torso. Both had smiled. Big, big stupid grins that made them look like schoolgirls. Grins that said everything.

At the kiss and cry, Yuuri and him had waited for the score impatiently, hands laced tightly together. Then came the results: 334.58, 1st place, breaking the world record that had been set by Yuri P. last year. There had been Yuuri's incredulous laugh, almost a scoff really. And overwhelming joy, that excruciating, beautiful pleasure of winning. Pride. Admiration.

There had been the kiss, too. Let's not forget that. It had been rash and sudden, the impact of their mouths colliding a bit too strong. Still a little clumsy, lips exploring, devouring. Eyes closing and opening, uncertain. They had not yet mastered the familiar kissing skills they would later acquire. Well, Viktor had been experienced, but not Yuuri, so it always ended up a little queer. Nevertheless it had been breathtaking, and daring, and public. And the first time Yuuri drew away without panicking. His face had shone brightly, his eyes a little teary.

 

 _Vitya_ , he'd said. _You can kiss the gold medal now._

 _I've found something else I'd rather kiss_. Viktor had answered, quite pathetically, yet so expectant.

Yuuri's pink cheeks contrasted against his pale white skin. _Sou... sou desu ka?_

_Yes, zolotse. Your lips at our wedding._

 

Both of these - the lips and the wedding - had been like a dream, marvellous and exaggeratingly short-lived in Viktor's opinion. The marriage had been set merely ten or so days after the GPF, in between important competitions of the figure skating season. It was on a cold, crisp day. The sky was clear, only a few clouds drifting around lazily, sometimes hiding the sun in a sudden caprice for a few moments before succumbing to its radiant gleam again. They had invited only close friends and family, and organised it in Fujiyoshida, a small town near the famous mountain, not a touristic spot, which suited Viktor and Yuuri perfectly.

Yuuri's family had been there, as well as the Nishigoris, Minako-sensei, Yakov, and fellow competitors. They'd worn beautiful montsukis, haoris and hakamas during the actual ceremony in a Shinto temple, then at a traditional house rented for the occasion they'd worn dark navy suits for the reception. There were applauses, cheers, Yuri's complaints and 'disgust', Yuko's daughters' photograph session, several translations needed for everyone to understand what was going on, and a lot of laughing and smiling, until Viktor and Yuuri's cheeks had hurt.

That night, when they'd gone back to their room, they'd stayed silent for a while, Yuuri's back encircled by Viktor's arms and chest, their legs entwined together. Viktor was gently caressing and smoothing his husband's hair, his hand lingering on Yuuri's head idly. Yuuri had sighed slowly.

 _I still can't believe this is happening, Vitenka_.

 _It is._ Viktor had responded, almost whispering soothingly, whilst his lips slowly traced the back of Yuuri's neck, not really kissing, simply needing that contact. His hand disappeared under Yuuri's shirt to trace the finely sculpted muscles of his chest, his abdomen, his sides. Slowly, the movements became slower, more sensual. Yuuri turned over, now facing Viktor.

 _I love you. You know that, right, Vitya?_ He asked with a serious look on his face

_Yes, lyubov moya, I know. I know._

Spasibo, he'd thought. Thank you. Thank you for loving me, and accepting my love, and accepting me. Thank you for being you. Thank you.

But there was no time for saying his thoughts out loud. Yuuri's mouth had captured his own, and their bodies closed in, leaving no space between them. The kisses became more passionate, and hands started roaming everywhere, a shy moan escaping Yuuri's throat. No, there was no time for talking, Viktor had thought.

There was only time for Yuuri.

 

That night, Viktor had understood one absolute truth about his life:

There would only ever be time for Yuuri from then on.

 


	4. Chapter 4

_**Sento una voce che piange lontano...** _

Viktor could hear Yuuri's voice sometimes.

He would be setting the table, for example. Sometimes he still prepared two plates, two forks, two knives, two glasses. Until he sat down, he would not realise his mistake - once he did, though, he would feel the tears forming in his eyes, heavy and tiring. He always tried forcing them back. That's when he would hear it.

_Vitya, it's ok. You can let it go, now._

_I can't_ , he would think. _I can't. Please, Yuuri._

The tears would start rolling, one huge drop after another, carving themselves into the weathered skin of his cheeks. The skin would feel dry and numb afterwards. Like his heart. But however painful, he still enjoyed hearing Yuuri's voice. It made him suffer a little more, to be honest, but he was grateful. Even if he was going demented, at least Yuuri was there to comfort and speak gentle words to him...

Once meals had been his second favourite time of the day. Both of them were very busy, and often they could not spend much time together during the day. The dinner they shared was like a lifeline: they would eat together whatever happened, even quite pathetically video calling during the meal if one of them was not at home, traveling. It was a banal event, of course. They had had much more exciting times. But somehow, Viktor found himself missing these moments more than any extravagant demonstration of love they'd had during their lives. They would share anecdotes of the day, or sometimes just silently smile at each other, their loving gazes only broken by temporary interludes when they put their forks into their mouths.

Often they'd end the meal with compliments. It was a random habit - he could not even remember when it'd started. Probably with teases from one of the two. They'd comment on little things - habits, the coaching of one another, a peculiar cloth.

 _I love your smile,_ Yuuri had proclaimed one day, towards the beginning of their marriage.

 _Oh, really?_ Viktor's eyebrows were raised in a comically questioning angle. _It's sexy, isn't it?_

 _It's kawaii._ Yuuri had looked away briefly.

_Only kawaii? I'm disappointed, Yuu-chan. I had a whole variety of adjectives other than kawaii: sensual, swoon-worthy, erotic, breathtaking..._

_It's heart shaped. I like it._

  
Viktor had smiled, less confidently than he'd wanted - even a bit shy. Yuuri's hand had caressed his cheek, slowly. Their eyes were locked together. Brown eyes and blue eyes, silence all around them.

 

He missed those eyes.

 

He should have said it more, how much he loved Yuuri's eyes.

 

 _I love your eyes_ , he should have said. They're always so bright, so tender.

 

 _I love your hair,_ he should have said. Black, grey, white, I always loved it.

 

_I love your smile. Yes, I love your smile._

 

 _I love your lips._ The soft lips, the rough lips, the lips that calmed, excited, the lips that spoke, the lips that remained silent, he lips that fit so perfectly against his own. No, not against, with his own.

 

 _I love your skating._ The way your body blends in with the music. The harmony, the emotions, the power of it. I love your spins, your jumps, your footsteps, your choreography.

 

He should have said it more, he should have worshipped him more.

 

I remember, he now wanted to call back. _Lo ricordo. Lo ricordo!_

 

_**Sento una voce che piange lontano...** _

_Te sento._ I hear you.

  
_**Svanirà questa notte assieme alle stelle** _

_**Se potessi vederti dalla speranza nascerà l’eternità** _

  
Life was a starless night sky without Yuuri, Viktor concluded. A starless night sky can be endured, it can be lived, it can be shared with other loved ones.

But Viktor had seen the celestial lights before, he had seen the beauty of it. Had seen the beauty of Yuuri. The stars had disappeared with him, he thought.

  
_**Stammi vicino, non te ne andare** _

It was impossible now for Yuuri to be at his side. It was too late. He had already left.

  
_**Ho paura di perderti.** _

_I am afraid_. Viktor was afraid. Not of death, that he had accepted. Not of Yuuri leaving. He had already left.  
He had already left without him.

Viktor was afraid of continuing. Continuing this starless life.

_You have to, Vitya._

_Yes, I have to.  
I have to._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I said I'd switch to a happier tone... I guess I'm a tragic person? I feel I write these nostalgic, desperate chapters better? Please do not hesitate to give me feedback...


	5. Chapter 5

The ring shone on his left hand, ghosts of Yuuri's touch still enveloping it. It somehow seemed like the only brightness Viktor could find in this life, though he was being unfair.

Yes, he was being unfair: there were plenty of beautiful, even meaningful distractions there for him. He was still with people he loved sincerely, and he led a comfortable life, surrounded by the same walls that had seen his love grow and evolve, so many years before.

But the ring was something else entirely. It guided him forwards, as unlikely as that seemed. When he woke up, the ring glistened under the morning sun, its rich gold smiling at Viktor's tired face. Each time he picked at food with his fork, there it was again, swaying to the rhythm of Viktor's hunger. When he watched sunset, the bleeding sky would dye his ring oranges and pinks and purples. It acted as a reminder, too, in a way. A reminder that it hadn't all been a dream - that the man he longed for had existed, that the passion and years they'd shared had existed.

 

When it had first been given to him in Barcelona, Yuuri's meaning had been ambiguous. It had been a good luck's charm, on his right hand. Of course, Phichit had taken it as proof of their marriage, and Viktor had gone with it, stating it was their engagement ring. The right hand didn't seem strange at that time: even JJ and his fiancée Isabella had their engagement rings on their right hands. It was strange, thinking of the days when their relationship had still been hazy and unclear. He remembers how it felt. Every day was both hesitant and daring, reaching to close in their distance one centimetre by centimetre, hoping it was too much and not too much at the same time. It had been a great adventure, he reflected. An epic tale of chivalry and love and fierce battles fought on the ice.

The day Yuuri had won the GPF gold medal was one year later. Viktor had taken his right hand and held it to his lips. He had delicately taken the ring from his fiancé's fingers, and with as much care had placed it back on Yuuri's left hand. When he'd looked up, Yuuri had had tears in his eyes. He had repeated Viktor's movements, until both of their left hands were laced in between their chests, matching rings clad together. A comfortable silence had settled in, both of them just feeling, feeling that calmness that had appeared once their heartbeats had slowed down. Those were the days of growing confidence, hearts beating together. There was no fear anymore, no fear of losing the other to someone else. Those were the days they'd known they would never be able to love someone else as entirely, as fully. The days of outmost trust, not clouded by any doubts on the past, the present or the future.

One Christmas over ten years later, they had traveled to Barcelona again, visiting the finished Sagrada Familia. They had both eyed attentively the steps where they'd exchanged the rings so naively, the sculpted faces in the stone still watching them with the same aloofness. They had gone a long way from where they'd been in 2016.

Viktor had to train skaters in St Petersburg, and Yuuri in Detroit. They lived apart one year, when they were in their thirties. What had struck Viktor was the silence he'd endured for an entire year, that dead silence he'd find in his apartment every night when he'd go home tired. When they lived together, there was always noise all around: the free program music of one of Yuuri's students playing whilst Yuuri waltzed back and forwards in the large rooms, the sound of the washing machine, the meow of the cat Yuri had offered them... It had felt like home. But in St Petersburg, there was only the ring on his left hand that reminded him of home.

Viktor had lived in Russia for all of his childhood and teenage years, but St Petersburg had become foreign to him somehow that year. As often as possible, the two would videocall, both of them pretending they were alright. What they both knew is that as soon as they closed the screens, they felt such misery that they both considered buying a plane ticket home several times. That's when the ring played its role, its shiny and smooth surface glancing up at the teary Viktor, comforting him by its constant presence.

 

Viktor had never been as happy when the competitions started in October that year. Very unprofessionally he had demanded to stay much more days than needed in each city, to be able to spend time with his husband. The two students had looked at them with little smiles, and gone off on their own, visiting the different cities whilst their coaches remained glued together for days on end.

 

 _We're fools,_ Yuuri had said the night before they had to leave. _We should stop this._

_Yuuri? Viktor had panicked. Stop what?_

_This. This relationship thingy. It doesn't work._

They had been sitting on a sofa, Viktor's hands on Yuuri's shoulders, and Yuuri's on Viktor's hip. Viktor had remained silent. He could feel the tears forming again. God, how many tears he'd spilled over Yuuri in his life.

_Vitya, we have to live together. I can't otherwise._

Relief came like a flood in Viktor's chest. _Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes. God, you scared me._

_Huh? What did you think of, Vitya?_

_I thought you wanted to, like, get divorced or something._

Yuuri had laughed out loud.

_As if I were able to live without you, love. I thought this miserable year was proof of that. Kurosaki can't even stand me anymore, he said I was too depressed to be any good coaching._

Viktor had embraced Yuuri so hard, it hurt him. Neither cared.

_Yuuri, I forbid you to ever leave me again. Swear it. Swear you'll never abandon me._

_I swear it, Vitya. Aishiteru, you know. I love you._

_We're never separating, ever ever._

_Yes, yes. You stress too much. I'll never leave you._

 

  
You liar. You liar. You liar.  
I love you, you _liar_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi,
> 
> First, thanks to all of you for having read my fic thus far... I know it's not the best writing ever, and a bit randomly put together, so I apologise... 
> 
> I'm leaving a note also because... I have writer's block rn (I think you can tell from how bad chapter 5 is)... if any of you has a suggestion for another episode of Victuuri, please write me? Leave a comment? It'd be really appreciated. 
> 
> Any feedback (positive or negative) would be awesome too. Thanks guys for supporting!!


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